All I Want for Christmas is You
by Dr. Kaitie Holmes
Summary: Some chibi Johnlock. Sherlock asked Santa for a best friend. Then (albeit it being two years later) the Watson family appears and John Watson is thrown into Sherlock's life. Some mentions and hints of Mystrade. Note: yes, Sherlock is a pirate. Do not question it.
1. Wishes and Snowstorms

_Dear Santa, _

_I know you probably aren't real, even though Mummy says you are. But it doesn't hurt to try. I was pretty good this year except sometimes to Mycroft, but he's my brother and doesn't count. For Christmas, I want a best friend. One who won't get mad if I say mean things or ignore them. This is very important to me. I also want a new lab kit and a real violin. But the friend comes first._

_From, Sherlock Holmes, age 5_

It took two years for his desire to be fulfilled.

* * *

"My! My! Mycroft!"

"What, Sher?" Sherlock's elder brother yanked open his door, but blocked the doorway with his body. His shirt was untucked and the top couple of buttons were undone. Distracted momentarily, Sherlock tried to see into Mycroft's room.

"Is Gregory still here?"

"Yes, now what do you want?"

"Oh. There's someone at the door."

"Then look at them through the window. If you know them, let them in," he said impatiently. Sherlock nodded and raced downstairs. Stealthily, he peeked out from behind the curtain and discovered two adults and two kids shivering on the porch. A snowstorm was approaching, and had sent messengers ahead in the form of driving winds and sharp hail. The four of them were bundled up, but Sherlock could tell they were freezing. He didn't know them, but what harm could come from letting them in?

Unlocking the deadbolt, he opened the door and stared at the family.

"Hello."

The man leaned down. "Hello, son. Are your parents here?"

"No. But Mycroft is."

"And who's that?"

"My big brother. He's upstairs."

"Can you get him for me? I need to ask him a question."

Sherlock frowned. "If you want to come in, you can. My won't mind."

The adults exchanged an uncertain look, but by then Sherlock had lost interest in them. Instead, he was staring at the boy in the green parka who was, in turn, staring at him. Tentatively, the older boy asked, "Are you a pirate?"

Sherlock looked down at himself. He was indeed wearing his fancy red pirate coat and black captain's hat. A wooden sword rested against his hip. Drawing himself up proudly, Sherlock answered yes.

"That's...amazing."

Sherlock was shocked, to say the least. He had been expecting to defend his outfit for the hundredth time, but the boy looked at him in...admiration. Without a second thought, Sherlock yanked the boy in the parka into his house.

His parents debated for a second, then went to their car and grabbed a couple of bags before retreating into the large manor. Sherlock showed them to the sitting room. They were dripping all over the rugs, so he directed them to the bathroom to change. He carefully examined the boy when he exited the restroom.

He now wore jeans and a green jumper. His parka no longer obscured his dirty-blond hair and Sherlock found himself staring into his pretty green eyes.

"I'm Sherlock," he said suddenly.

A grin split the other boy's face. "I'm John. It's very nice to meet you."

Sherlock hugged him compulsively. No one had ever said that before.

He pulled back long enough to ask, "Do you want to see my fort?" When John said yes, he grabbed the older boy's hand and pulled him upstairs. They passed Mycroft and Gregory on the way up.

"Sherlock, who is that?"

Sherlock ignored his big brother and the two boys ran down the hall.

The teenagers cautiously went downstairs and found the rest of the family. The father greeted Mycroft. "I'm Henry Watson. You must be Mycroft."

The eldest Holmes smiled politely. "I see my reputation precedes me," he said. "Now, how can I help you?"

"Our car stopped working and I think we popped a tire. We were wondering if we could use your phone."

Mycroft nodded and pointed them to the parlor. He stayed behind to ask Greg to find his wayward brother before joining the Watsons.


	2. Mycroft and Gregory

"It's dead."

Mycroft frowned and tried the phone himself. The line was indeed dead. Cursing internally, he pulled out his mobile and scowled when a NO SIGNAL notification popped up. "Must have been the storm," he mused. "Well, there's nothing for it. Let's grab your bags and get you set up in the guest rooms."

The Watsons started to protest, but the eldest Holmes cut them off. "I insist. My parents would have it no other way."

Seeing no other option, they agreed, although their daughter looked a bit upset. She glared at him.

They were in the process of carrying the bags into the house when Greg joined him. He promptly took the suitcase Mycroft was holding and brought it in.

Once they had the bags situated in the guest rooms, Greg and Mycroft took a second to themselves and sat on the stairs. Once again, Mycroft found himself staring at his boyfriend. His thick black hair, brown eyes, still slightly tanned skin. Wearing those tight black jeans and graphic T-shirt and black leather jacket. Once again, Mycroft was amazed that Greg had agreed to be his boyfriend.

"What?" Greg asked. Mycroft blushed a little and looked away.

"Nothing," he murmured. Gregory laughed.

"You were checking me out again, weren't you?"

Mycroft was going to blatantly deny that, but the girl interrupted them before he had a chance. Her face suddenly appeared between the two of theirs. "Where's my brother? Mum wants John to come to bed."

Mycroft jumped up a little guiltily. "I'll go find him then," he said. Greg just grinned knowingly.

Before he left, the older boy noticed how the girl was looking at Greg. A little crush, he thought, amused.

"I'm Harriet. Harry for short. What's your name?"

* * *

"Sherlock? Sher, let me in."

For the tenth time, Mycroft knocked at his brother's door. Well, one of his doors. This room was dedicated entirely to his life as a 'pirate', decked out like an actual ship, while the other was for his everyday life.

Again, there was no answer, but Mycroft could hear shushing and giggling inside. Knowing it was a bad idea, he turned the knob.

And was knocked over when a board slapped him in the face.

"Sherlock!" he snarled, checking for blood. Thankfully, his nose had been spared. "You can't booby-trap your door!"

Sherlock appeared in the hall, pointing a wooden sword at his fallen brother. "See? I have slain the evil beast!" he called behind him. John joined him, dressed in a blue pirate coat and brown tricorn hat. He looked at the elder Holmes skeptically.

"He doesn't look evil."

Sherlock smiled and readjusted his new eyepatch. "That's right. They don't look evil, you know. And _that's _what makes them dangerous."

John nodded and looked to Sherlock for direction.

"What do you want, evil beast?" Sherlock demanded.

"Don't call me that," Mycroft growled, propping himself up on his elbows.

"Would you rather I call you a whale?"

Mycroft lunged at his little brother, but found another sword pointed at him. John had stepped into the line of fire and was defending his 'captain'. Sighing in defeat, Mycroft settled into a cross-legged sitting position and glared at his brother. "Fine, but Sherlock, John has to join his family."

"No."

Usually, Mycroft would yell at his brother for being selfish and daft, but they had a guest. "Sher, he has to."

"No. John's staying with me."

"Sherlock-"

"Whoa, guys. Can I ask why you have my b- my friend at swordpoint?"

Greg stood above them with a raised eyebrow.

Sherlock looked up defiantly. "The whale is trying to kidnap my queen."

Gregory stifled a laugh. He couldn't decide which part of that statement he found funnier. "Trying to kidnap him?"

"Yes," Sherlock repeated slowly, as if speaking to a small child.

"You want John to stay with you tonight?"

"Yes," Sherlock repeated.

Nodding, Greg pulled his boyfriend to his feet and said, "We'll see what we can do."

**AN: **Sorry for veering away from the story line-I've been on a Mystrade kick lately. :) Well, 'tis the season for loving. Happy holidays, everyone!


	3. Stories and Dinnertime

After receiving permission, John's bags were moved to Sherlock's 'fort'.

John loved this room. It was constructed as one huge jungle-gym, modeled after a ship. Walkways ramps and ropes and flags were everywhere. There was even a secret hatch that led to the 'crews' quarters'-it was a dark, cozy niche covered in blankets and pillows. This was where Sherlock stashed John's things.

"Alright," Sherlock said in satisfaction, hands on his hips, surveying his 'ship'. "As my pirate queen, you have to know the entire layout of my ship. She's called the _Queen Anne's Revenge_. That was the name of Blackbeard's ship."

"Who was Blackbeard?"

Sherlock took John's hand and led him to the mast. A picture of a man with a thick black beard was nailed to the wooden post. "Blackbeard was an English pirate. His real name was Edward Teach, and was shot five times and stabbed more than twenty before he died and was decapitated. This is his flag." He pointed to a black flag with a skeleton holding an hourglass and a spear, poised to stab a red heart. "Did you know..."

John listened intently to the history lesson as the other boy waved his hands to emphasis his points. He was fascinated by the younger, dark-haired boy. His passion was extraordinary. After a while, John accidentally interrupted a tale about piracy-his stomach growled.

"Are you hungry?"

"Yeah," John admitted. "I haven't eaten since breakfast."

The pirate captain grabbed his sword and held it aloft. "Then let's go loot an enemy ship!"

He led his queen to the back wall of his ship. A large black flag with a skull over crossed swords was stretched over the boards. ("It's the flag of Calico Jack Rackham," he explained. "His actual first name was John.") John was amazed when Sherlock pulled the draped cloth back to reveal a sliding wooden panel.

"This is the old dumbwaiter. Mummy got a new one, so they left this one. It leads down to the basement, which has a staircase right into the kitchen. I'll lower you down first, then follow you. Okay? Climb in."

John followed his directions and curled his body into the small wooden crate. Sherlock gave him a reassuring grin, grabbed the rope, and began winching him down. As soon as the darkness closed in on him, John's breathing picked up. In this confined space, it felt like the walls were closing in on him. It was pitch black, and the air was dusty. It took forever for the tiny box to hit the bottom of the shaft. John scrambled out and attempted to regain some dignity by dusting his pirate coat off. Sherlock soon joined him.

"Follow me," he whispered, grasping his hand and leading him to the top of a dusty set of stairs. Cracking the door open, Sherlock peeked out and checked that no one was in the kitchen. They entered together. The kitchen was spacious and shiny, with high counters and slick tiles. The door to the dinning room was closed, but John could hear voices on the other side. "It's just My and Greg," Sherlock reassured him. He led John to another large room. Shelves crammed with food rose all the way to the ceiling and lined all four walls. The pirate captain began pulling items down (the ones he could reach, anyway).

"Can you cook?"

"Yes," Sherlock nodded, bringing his haul into the kitchen. He used a step-stool to reach the top of the island counter and laid everything out. "It's like a science experiment. And My taught me a couple things too."

John stood by as Sherlock opened cans and drained juices into the sink. "Um. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Pointing to the double-doored fridge, Sherlock instructed him to retrieve the cheese. The older boy did so, then watched as Sherlock threw together some type of casserole on the stove.

"Do you usually make dinner?"

"Only when Cook isn't here. She doesn't like me in the kitchen."

"Why?"

"Because he burnt it down two summers ago," Mycroft said as he entered the kitchen. Greg was right behind him.

Sherlock brandished his wooden spoon at the two older boys. "How did you find us?" he demanded.

Mycroft laughed and leaned over the pot to inspect its contents. "We could smell the food. Is there enough for us too?"

The younger Holmes looked at them suspiciously, but eventually relaxed and nodded.

"Did my family eat?" John asked. Greg nodded, and the three of them stood around, feeling useless as Sherlock finished dinner up.

"Um. I can make tea or coffee," John offered. The others accepted, and the young boy got to work with his kettle.

* * *

"And then he added the sulfuric acid and dropped the jar. The fire alarms went off a bit late, and the sprinklers only helped a bit. The entire staff, armed with fire extinguishers, managed to put it out, but the kitchen was beyond repair by then."

The three of them broke out in loud bouts of laughter while Sherlock scowled at them. "What about the time you got yourself locked in the basement and I had to rescue you?"

Mycroft shook his head subtly at his younger brother, but Sherlock launched into the story anyway.

They went on and on like that, trading stories and laughing until Mycroft announced it was bedtime. The two youngest boys were much too tired to resist. Greg and Mycroft carried them upstairs, got them into pajamas, and tucked them into Sherlock's bed together. They curled up facing each other and fell asleep quickly.

The two older boys retired to Mycroft's room since Greg couldn't go home yet. The snowstorm was still raging outside.

After they stripped and changed, they slipped under the duvet. "Sherlock seems happy," Greg murmured. My agreed.

"I'm just worried about what will happen when they leave tomorrow."

**AN: **Thank you for reading! I'll try to get new chapters up faster, and it will be done before Christmas rolls around. Special thanks to Irene-thank you for your reviews and continued support!


	4. Hide and Seek and Bad News

**AN: **I love~ you guys. Being gone for a couple of days and coming back to a ton of reviews is amazing. You made my day.

This will be finished before Christmas. Happy holidays.

* * *

A couple of days passed. Each day, the Watsons looked for some let up in the storm, but Mother Nature gave them none. There was nothing to do but get comfortable in the Holmes' manor.

"One...two...three...four..."

As patiently as he could, Sherlock counted to thirty, keeping his eyes clamped tightly shut.

"Ready or not, here I come!" he yelled to the house. Tilting his head to the side, he examined the room, looking for clues.

There. One of Mummy's plants by the doorway had a broken stem. That hadn't been like that forty-three seconds ago. His heading set, he padded stealthily into the hall. He was a hunter. No-a jungle cat. A black panther. Stalking his prey through the thick wilds.

There. The hall to the right. The corner of a rug was turned up, suggesting someone had gone by in a hurry. Sherlock turned the corner. The hall was lined with the bedroom doors. His were the first two, then My's were much further on. The hall ended with another corner.

Crouching, Sherlock traced the faint outline of a footprint in the carpet. Sweeping his coat back, he followed the marks to the end of the hall. They didn't veer towards any of the doors. Again, he turned the corner and found the stairs. These were hardly used, with a thin layer of dust. John's footprints could easily be seen.

Sherlock was a little uneasy at this point. These stairs were the back way up to the third floor-his parents' floor. They weren't home, but no one was really allowed up there.

Silently striding up the stairs with his long legs, Sherlock reached the top and cracked the door open. There were drag marks on the carpet; the door had been opened recently. There was no doubt that John was up here.

This door was tucked into the corner of a small sitting room. It was beautiful and well-kept, with posh velvet furniture and heavy wood tables. A bookshelf lined the wall opposite him. There were a couple of places that John could hide here, but John would have gone deeper. He had a natural curiosity, and would have taken...that door there.

Stealthily, he stalked to the door and opened it. It led to a short hallway. There was one door on his right, slightly ajar. It was a bathroom. John wouldn't have been in there. That left the last door. His parents' bedroom.

Sherlock had never been up here before. He didn't know the layout, so he carefully opened the new door, glancing inside. It was dark, the curtains drawn. A giant four-poster bed dominated the chamber.

Sherlock smirked when he noticed a seemingly innocent fold in the bedskirt. John was under the bed, facing the door. He had probably heard him coming, but since the skirt was so long, he hadn't seen his feet yet. He walked around the room briefly, then went back to the door and pretended to leave. Then, silently, he hugged the wall, circling around to the other side of the bed. Carefully he lifted part of the skirt and slipped underneath. John was facing the other way. Ninja-like, he army-crawled right up to the other boy and waited for the right moment.

Pounce! Sherlock jumped onto John's back.

John yelped, rolling around to try and dislodge him. Sherlock simply hugged him until he calmed down.

"I win," he giggled. John grinned and ruffled his hair.

"You did. C'mon, let's go back downstairs."

Hand-in-hand, they went, making sure not to leave any evidence behind.

"John!" Harriet called down the hall. Her brother waved, but didn't let go of his captain's hand. "John, mum wants us. Come on." She grabbed his hand and began dragging him down the stairs. Sherlock followed, tightening his grip on his queen. He didn't really like Harry, but she was John's sister, so he couldn't be mean to her.

The Watsons met in the living room. Greg and My were there, standing against the wall. Sherlock noted how they looked at him, and felt dread settle into his stomach. Something was wrong.

"Good news, everyone," Mr Watson announced. "The phone lines have been repaired. I've called a mechanic. He can have our car fixed in a couple of days."

Mrs Watson turned to her husband. "But it's just a tire..."

Mr Watson waved his hands and shrugged. "He said something about an axle being broken and something else, but they have to send for replacement parts. The point is, we can leave soon!"


	5. Anger and Advice

This was not right. No. Nonono.

"You can't leave!" Sherlock protested, clinging to his John's arm.

"I have to, Sherlock. They're my family."

"But you can't! You're _mine_, John!"

"I know I'm your friend, Sherlock, but I do have to go. You'll be fine without me."

"No," Sherlock said. Tears started to gather in his eyes and he began to sniffle. "I'd be lost without my queen." He was furious with himself for crying, and lashed out at John. "Traitor! You ruined everything."

With that, he turned and ran. Even John's pleas couldn't make him go back; he hid under the desk in Mycroft's office. His brother soon found him.

"Sher? Come out from there."

Sherlock huddled against the corner and wiped his eyes with his coat sleeve. If he had his sword, he could defend himself from the evil beast, but it was on his ship. His ship that was being deserted.

Mycroft grabbed onto his leg and pulled him, kicking and struggling, out from under the desk. He held his little brother in his lap, pinning Sherlock's arms against his body until he calmed. "Sher, talk to me."

The younger Holmes was silent for the longest time. He would never admit it, but My's hug and the slight rocking motion he was making soothed him immensely. "John's going to leave me," he sniffled. Mycroft rested his chin on Sherlock's raven head and nodded.

"Yes. He has to be with his family."

"But _why_?" Sherlock demanded, distressed. "Isn't he happy here?" _With me?_

"Of course he's happy, Sherlock. But he wants to go home. Wouldn't you?"

Grudgingly, Sherlock admitted that his brother had a point. "But if he leaves, I'll be alone." Admitting this, Sherlock realized that it was his biggest fear. He needed John, needed someone to care. Someone who had _chosen_ to be with him.

"You'll have me and Greg, and Mummy and father are coming home soon."

"That's different," he said. Putting his thoughts into words had never been this hard before. "You...you're family. You _have _to like me. It's in the rules. John...he likes me because he can."

Mycroft was shocked at the profound thoughts his brother was having. Sherlock was young, but My could already tell he was going to do amazing things.

"You have the mind of a scientist or philosopher, and yet you elect to be a pirate?" he asked, shaking his head. "I'm going to have to keep a close eye on you when you grow up."

"Shut up, Mycroft," Sherlock muttered.

"Of course, dear brother. But let me give you some advice. John is going to be gone in a couple of days. Make them count."

My left his younger brother to think that over, and went to find his boyfriend. The snowstorm had been very beneficial to him as well; he meant to take his own advice and enjoy the time he had with Greg.

* * *

"John?"

"Sherlock! There you are!"

John slammed into Sherlock's body, nearly knocking him over. His arms wrapped around the younger boy's slender body and squeezed tightly. At this point, Sherlock was having trouble breathing.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock! I don't mean to ruin everything."

Disentangling their limbs, the dark-haired boy stepped back and cleared his throat. "A-about that, John...I didn't mean it. You haven't ruined anything. It's my fault. Please forgive me."

John smiled softly at him. "Of course, Sherlock. Please don't be mad at me anymore."

"Don't be an idiot," Sherlock chided. He took John's hand in his and smiled. "Are you ready to sail?"


	6. Goodbye

The next two days passed much too quickly. John and Sherlock were inseparable. Then the dreaded day came.

"John!"

"Yes, Father?"

"The car's fixed. It'll be here in a couple hours. Get your things together."

Sherlock sat in his crow's nest, pouting. John was packing. He was going to leave.

"Sherlock? Please stop sulking. I have to leave in a couple of hours, and I want to spend time with you."

The pirate captain spent a couple more minutes protesting, but eventually he came down. "Fine. What do you want to do?"

"I want to...talk. Just talk."

So they went down to the hold and cuddled next to each other on the pillows.

"John, where were you going? When the snowstorm came?"

"We were going to our new house. We moved recently."

"Oh." Sherlock played with the hem of John's jumper for a second. "Do you have a lot of friends?"

"Yeah, I guess. Why?"

"I was just wondering if...you'd forget about me."

John wrapped his arms tightly around the younger boy. "Never," he whispered. "Never ever."

* * *

The Watsons left that afternoon. Sherlock waved from the porch as they drove off, then ran to his room and sulked there for the rest of the day. Mycroft was busy saying goodbye to Greg and left him alone.

Eventually, Sherlock found an experiment to distract him. Then another and another until Christmas break was over. (Of course he got everything he wanted for Christmas, and his parents returned on Boxing Day).

Then it was back to school. He pouted all morning, but My still drove him.

Sherlock was walking though the front doors when James caught up to him. James Moriarty was his sometimes-friend, and seemed to know everything about everybody. "Sher! Guess what."

"What?" Holmes sighed, shifting his bag around. He really had no interest in people.

"Sebastian said he has a new neighbor, who's also a student in his class. But you want to know the _really _interesting part?"

"Sure."

"He was talking about you." James smiled a sly grin. "Do you want to know his name?" Impatiently, Sherlock nodded. "His name is John Wats-hey, where are you going?"

Sherlock was too busy rushing down the hall to answer.

**AN: **Sorry about the delay. But it's done! I hope you guys enjoyed this.


End file.
